The Hunt

“Well, I like a man with a sense of humor, friend. Here, have a cigar.”

He slid a cigar in Dempsey’s inside jacket pocket. “If you don’t smoke, you can frame it.”

He looked at the stopwatch. “Two minutes, Homer.” He strolled back to the front door as he spoke, never excited or hurried. He opened the blind an inch and peered out. No sign of the cop. He turned back to the group n the floor.

“Hell, times bein’ what they are, a man can’t get a decent job if he wants to. Listen, I was born in Mooresville, right down the road. Did my first time in the State Reformatory. I’m just a hometown boy when you get right down to it. My pap runs a grocery down in Mooresville just like that one across the street. I’m wanted in seven states, hell I’m wanted in states I ain’t even been to yet! Not that we ain’t taken our share of banks, mind you. Hell, we took down over a dozen banks. Harry Pierpont, the dandy there, he’s been in on fifteen, sixteen. And Homer Van Meter must’ve robbed, what, twenty banks, Homer?”

“Twenty-two,” Van Meter called back from the vault.

“Twenty-two. You know, there’s a number that just seems to dog me. I was born on the twenty-second of the month, stole my first car on the twenty-second, was paroled on the twenty- second. I took my first bank on the twenty—second and escaped the G-men up in Wisconsin just a month ago on the twenty-second. Now here it is the twenty-second of May. One minute, Homer. Well, you gents and ladies will remember this day for the rest of your lives, May 22nd, 1934, and you will tell your grandchildren that you was in the Drew City bank the day it was held up by the John Dillinger gang. Sure is more excitin’ than sitting around with a fly swatter, whackin’ flies, now ain’t that a fact, everybody? People’ll come from far and wide just to visit here and you will talk about this day for years to come and when you do, you will tell everybody that Johnny Dillinger wasn’t a bad sort, he was mannerly and pleasant and didn’t hurt a soul and took no money except what was the bank’s. Ten seconds, boys, wrap it up.”

“Lot more here,” Nelson yelled from the vault.

“I said wrap it up.”

“Johnny,” Harry Pierpont said, looking out the window. “Across the street, that copper’s comin’ out of the barber’s.”

“Damn!” Dillinger thought for a moment. “Okay, Russ, go out and get in the car and crank’er up just like normal. Don’t show your weapon. If he comes on toward the bank, put the drop on him and tell him to stand fast and no harm’ll come to him. Tell him who we are. Soon’s you got the car hot, we’ll pile in. Go on now.”

“Right,” Clark said.

Across the street, Tyler Oglesby stared at the bank. His watch still said five minutes to three. He decided to go over anyway, he was sure Ben would let him deposit his scrip.

As he started across the street a man exited the bank and got in a black Packard parked on the corner. Oglesby smiled at him as he approached the car and then the man swung his hand up and pointed a .38 at him.

“Stand fast there, copper. This is the Dillinger gang. You make a move and a lot of people could get hurt.”

Oglesby stopped short. His mouth fell open. And then the door to the bank burst open and four men came rushing out carrying bank bags. Without thinking, Oglesby grabbed for his pistol, clawing it out of the holster and backing up at the same time.

Russell Clark fired. Oglesby felt the bullet hit his chest. It felt like somebody had punched him very hard and he fell over on his back. He heard people screaming and the screeching of tires but they seemed very far away. He felt numb all over and then the world seemed to spin away from him as he felt like he was falling into a deep, dark well.

The people of Drew City seemed frozen in time, staring with disbelief at Tyler Oglesby who lay spread-eagled in the middle of Broadway, staring up at the rain. Dempsey was the first to get to him. He ran from inside the bank and dropped on his knees beside him.

“Tyler!” he cried. He turned and yelled up at Dr. Kimberly’s window over the Dairy Foods.

“Doc, hey Doc, come quick! Tyler Oglesby’s been shot.”

Oglesby looked up but did not recognize him. A moment later his eyes lost their focus and glazed over. Dempsey heard his deep sigh and knew he was dead. He looked up at the crowd gathering around and shook his head as Oglesby’s young deputy spun around the corner in the city Ford.

“After ‘em, Luther,” Ben Scoby yelled from the bank door. “It’s the Dillinger gang!”

As the getaway car roared down Broadway, Nelson thrust his tommygun out the window and fired a long burst at the hardware store. The bullets shattered the plate window, splintered ax handles and kerosene cans and snapped harnesses like twigs as they hung from hooks in the ceiling. The people inside dove to the floor as the bullets raked the store above their heads, showering them with debris.

“What the hell’d you do that for?” Dillinger yelled.

“Give ‘em something else to talk about,” Nelson yelled back. “Hey, looks like a patrol car swingin’ in behind us.”

“That must be the other copper. Step on it, Russell.”

“I’m goin’ almost seventy now!”

“I’ll just slow that son-bitch down,” said Nelson.

“No mere killing, Lester!” Dillinger yelled.

“Right,” Nelson said. He smashed out the back window of the Packard with his tommygun and waited as the patrol car drew closer. When it was in range he fired one burst, then another.

In the patrol car, Luther Conklin saw the window smash out but could not see clearly because of the rain. Then he saw the flash of the machine gun and heard the bullets ripping into the radiator, heard the steam hissing from it. The radiator cap exploded off and steam poured out. Conklin swerved in the road as another burst tore into both front tires. They burst under him and the car veered, skidded wildly on the wet pavement. He frantically fought the steering wheel, trying to gain control, felt the car skid into the shoulder and saw the tree rush toward him, felt it